


Quietus pugnare draco

by My_Beating_Hart



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Death, Gen, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Beating_Hart/pseuds/My_Beating_Hart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at what might happen if Theron and the gang went to fight that sleeping dragon outside the Gauntlet.<br/>An adventure in a prompt AU, posted on the blog as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quietus pugnare draco

It was only when the dragon was dead that everyone relaxed. **  
**

“Let’s never do that again.” Alistair suggested, wiping his brow as he stared up at the scaled mound of dead high dragon in front of him.

“Consider it practice.” Theron replied, wondering if he would be able to reclaim many of his arrows from the creature.

He frowned and looked around, before realising Zevran was sitting propped up against a rock a short distance away, blinking hard. Theron had seen him get knocked back by the end of the dragon’s tail, but had been too busy aiming for the few vulnerable spots a dragon possessed to go over and help him up.

“You alright?” The ranger asked as he walked over.

“Never better.” The former Crow sighed, rubbing his head. “The rock was here to break my fall, luckily, and the headache should stop soon.”

Theron nodded, reaching a hand out to help the blond to his feet. Instead of taking it, Zevran looked at it, and chuckled.

“This is definitely a familiar sight.” He commented, shaking his head to himself. The ranger frowned slightly.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head that hard?” Theron asked, crouching down beside the Antivan.

“I will be fine,  _amor_. I may need a few minutes before I can stand, though.” Zevran reassured him, waving a hand dismissively.

“Is everything okay?”

The two looked up as Alistair finally wandered over, trailed by Sten.

“Yes, there’s no need to wait around for me.” Zevran answered, smiling faintly up at the other Grey Warden. Alistair frowned as he tried to figure out the teasing jab or innuendo, and didn’t find one.

“Why don’t you two start walking back to camp? Me and Zevran can catch up.” Theron suggested. Alistair looked at Sten, but the giant was as inexpressive as ever.

“Taking that as a yes, then.” The ex-Templar muttered to himself, but turned on his heel to lead the way back down the mountain path.

Zevran sighed once they were gone, leaning forwards and placing a hand over his stomach as he examined the dead dragon.

“I cannot believe we killed that.”

“Neither can I.” Theron agreed, rolling his shoulders.

“You know, I was perfectly happy to let it enjoy it’s sleep.”

“Yes, but if we’d done that, we’d have no idea how to react to the Archdemon.”

“All you would need to be concerned about is not getting set on fire.” Zevran grinned.

“Mm.” Theron nodded, not rising to the tease. Now they were no longer running around, he was becoming aware of how cold the mountain was. “Do you think you can stand yet?” He asked, looking at Zevran.

The blond hesitated, eyes wide, but he gripped the rock at his back in an attempt to push himself up, gritting his teeth. He rose up a few inches, before seeming to change his mind and sit back down heavily.

“I… Think not. Not yet.” He replied, letting out a hissing breath. Theron frowned.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The Dalish elf asked, leaning forwards slightly, but stopping when something caught his eye. The patch of rock where Zevran had placed his hand glittered faintly with fresh blood.

“ _Braska_.” Zevran swore when he saw realisation dawn.

“Zevran, where are you bleeding.” The ranger’s voice was calm. It wasn’t a question, either, but a statement. Zevran looked up and saw keen worry in the ranger’s eyes.

“I…” The former Crow began, wondering if he could play it off, but the dull pain in his stomach was something even he was starting to acknowledge, now the shock had worn off entirely. “It is not pretty,  _amor_.” He answered instead as he drew his hand away from where he’d kept it draped over his stomach. The dragon’s tail had done more than glance off him. His leather armour was sticky with blood, and his earlier feeble attempt to get to his feet hadn’t improved things.

“We need to get Wynne.” Theron said, getting to his feet and striding away a few paces, in the direction Alistair and Sten had gone. From his lower vantage point, Zevran could easily see the ranger’s hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides, until he cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Sten! Alistair!”

“Somehow, I do not think she would be able to come all this way across such inhospitable terrain for me.” The blond noted, returning his hand to his stomach. Theron turned back to him.

“Of course she can.”

They looked at each other in silence, and then the ranger knelt down on the ground beside Zevran, ignoring the small patches of blood beginning to soak into the grit and sharp stones.

“Don’t give up this easily.” Theron said, grey eyes intense.

“I was not planning to.” Zevran answered defensively, pouting. “Such little faith… The dragon, it seems, had other ideas.” He sighed, glancing down at his stomach before he settled back against the rock.

Theron opened his mouth to respond, but the blond shook his head.

“ _Mi amor_. I am eternally grateful that I met you - whether to the Maker or perhaps the Crows, I am not sure. One of the two, perhaps both. I am glad that you didn’t listen to that fool Alistair and kill me that day.” Zevran said, looking up at the Dalish elf fondly, even as he let out a quiet, pained noise. “I would not take back a single day spent in your company - even those early unpleasant ones.” He chuckled softly to himself. “Or the countless terrible jokes you suffered.”

“Zevran…” Theron closed his stinging eyes, willing himself not to cry as words failed him entirely. This couldn’t be happening, it had to be another horrible, too-real nightmare. Any moment the dragon they’d just killed would rise as the Archdemon, ready to burn the world.

The ranger opened his eyes, in time to see a weak grimace of pain on Zevran’s face. A hardy Crow to the last. Zevran smiled weakly at him, and closed his eyes as he took a breath.

“I love you.”

 

Rocks crunched underfoot as Sten and Alistair finally reached the two elves, slowing to a halt as the Dalish elf got to his feet and cried his agony to the night sky overhead. 


End file.
